Bomb Fish Somewhere on a world whose name I know not, Glimpsed in passing on the way to somewhere else, A castle is in peril. It looks hopeless. The attack comes from above: A mighty ship of the air drones overhead, Out of reach of slings and arrows, Raining death on the people below. Even the sun loses hope. Frowning, it hides behind a cloud, Then peeks out, Driven by morbid curiosity. But all is not lost. A wizard stop the tallest tower waves his wand And the falling bombs, With their tail fins and long bodies, Change in midair To become giant fish. Other wizards cast illusions of explosions, fire, and death, As the people, secretly anticipating the feast to come, Feign fear. The airship, knowing nothing of magic, Departs, satisfied: Mission Accomplished. As the death illusions fade The people gather up the fallen fish. Pretend conflagrations give way to real cooking fires As the mood becomes festive. The sun comes out from behind his clouds, Smiling again. I know not how or when this war started, Or how or when it might end. Perhaps not even they know. Nor do I know, As their world fades from view behind me, Whether I should wish them peace. -- Thomas G. Digby Prose Draft 20:54 06/14/2002 Poetic version 23:58 06/20/2002 Revised 21:15 06/21/2002